Page 23 of Drown Me Gently

“I think,” Auren said, voice trembling, “I might be ready… to be held that close.”

His fingers curled on Ulric’s shoulders. Grounding. Seeking an anchor in the electric current of emotions tugging them towards each other.

Then, slowly, Auren leaned in.

Ulric did too.

There was only breath. Only closeness.

I’m going to kiss him.

Ulric opened his lips, tilting his head and⁠—

The magic struck.

It was a silent, brutal lash. Like his ribs had cracked open, and the ocean was pouring in. Agony tore through him. One of the runes inked into his skin burned white-hot, then vanished.

Ulric choked, hands yanked back as if scalded, his tentacles recoiling like a wounded thing.

“Ulric—?” Auren’s voice was alarmed, confused.

But Ulric was already backing away, pain radiating like fire through his limbs. His breath came ragged, his heart crashing against his sternum like a tortured prisoner begging for escape.

No. Not again.

The gods warned him.

No mate. No desire. No love.

Auren reached out, catching him gently by the wrist. “Ulric, what’s wrong?”

But the moment their skin touched, Ulric jerked like he’d been burned.

“I can’t,” he rasped, the words strangled from his throat.

Then he turned and fled into the dark.

“Ulric!” Auren called after him, but Ulric didn’t look back. Didn’t slow.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m… not strong enough.

That night, he did not return to Atlantis. He told himself it was duty. That the sea needed him elsewhere, that time would dull the ache. But the truth was far simpler. He couldn’t stay. Not when he was already drowning. Not when every part of him still burned with the memory of Auren’s mouth—of a kiss they’d never shared.

So he made himself a promise: He would bury this feeling in the blackest depths of the sea. Leave it where it could rot. Where it would never rise again. Where it could never ruin him.

Or the Mer who looked to the sky.

Auren waited over a month.

A month of silence. Of absence. Of heartbreak. Ulric hadn’t returned to Atlantis. He hadn’t sent word. Hadn’t given a reason. No explanation. No goodbye. One day, they were swimming through golden light, wrapped in a moment that could’ve been everything. And the next, he was gone.

Auren waited in his cave. Waited in the palace halls. Waited in the dark, sleepless and broken. His mind replayed that moment in the bloom over and over. Ulric’s whisper, his touch, the look in his eyes as he fled.

At first, Auren thought he’d done something wrong. He’d gone too far. Misread something. Was it the way he’d leaned in? The things he’d said? The way… Auren’s lips were seconds from touching Ulric’s.

He buried his face in his arms most nights, gritting his teeth as unbidden tears forced their way free. He was unsure what stung worse—the heartbreak, or the not knowing. Had Ulric been disgusted? Had that flicker of something between them all been in Auren’s head?

He’d even gone to his mother, hoping for some truth. Queen Tritheya had barely looked up from her scrolls. “It’s not uncommon,” she’d said, tone clinical. “The Kraken are attuned to older currents, deeper forces. Sometimes the magic calls them back. It’s nothing to fear. He’ll return when Poseidon wills it.”